Owen Canfield: Most people show tolerance, but not all

Most people I know are thoughtful, friendly and willing to overlook little errors or unintended slips. Others prefer to forgive nothing, unintended or not, and to exploit, embarrass or punish the transgressor and let him stew in his own juice. Read on. You’ll see what I mean.

I watched the disappointingly lop-sided Super Bowl last Sunday in the comfort of Southern California, in the middle of an absolutely terrific 6-day vacation. Mo Pugsley’s (she’s a transplant from Torrington) Super Bowl party was moving swimmingly along, with the hors d’oeuvres and chili and champagne hitting every spot when, suddenly, the TV screen went blank. No sound either. After a few minutes someone went next door, learned that the TV there was functioning normally (the neighbors subscribed to a different cable system) and returned with two pleasant women who offered help. They were very nice.

But there was no help for it. We just had to wait, although the pleasant neighbors invited all nine of us to come watch with them and their husbands. We declined, feeling the picture would return. It did, but we had missed part of the second quarter, all of the halftime show and eight or nine minutes of the third quarter.

It was annoying but nobody crabbed about it because during the impromptu blackout, great conversation and laughter among nice people kept us all content. And of course, by that time Seattle had the game well in hand.

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The picture returned, no real harm done, and in the L.A. Times, the next morning, it was reported that the cable station was looking into making it right with subscribers although it did not say how.

The whole trip was for me a warm hiatus, full of wonderful dinners with friends, a black-tie event – have you seen me in a monkey suit? You’d fall over -- a play well worth seeing at the Norris Theatre in Torrance, lunch with a favorite grandson, a dinner at a restaurant called Ports of Call and . . . well, you’ve got it.

Tuesday was getaway day and I didn’t want to go. But I said a sad goodbye and boarded the plane reluctantly at LAX. The flight stopped first in Denver and then went on to Baltimore. The first leg was a piece of cake. The woman at the window seat was very nice; an enjoyable seatmate, destination Baltimore. But before leaving Denver it was announced that all flights from Baltimore had been canceled by anticipated bad weather. Ouch.

It was 8 o’clock in Baltimore when the man behind the ticket counter, a big, frowning guy, told me the best he could do for the next day was give me a seat on the 9:05 for Bradley, some 26 hours later. I took it, hoping I could arrange a better accommodation the next day.

Stopping on the way down to “ground transportation" I asked a lovely, accommodating woman who as not frowning behind the lonely counter about a van to a nearby motel. She provided the information and directions and added, “You might want to try Amtrak." She was lovely, helpful and probably as tired as I was. A nice, middle-aged woman working for a living and not too tired to help a weary wayfarer.

The Best Western van driver was great. His name is Ryan. He was friendly and told me the motel offers van service to the nearby Amtrak station, as well as the airport. The next morning I took advantage of it and made for the train station.

The ticket seller, nice guy, saved me over 50 bucks and a lot of time by suggesting I go to New Haven instead of Hartford. I jumped on it and 20 minutes later was moving smoothly toward New Haven. The car in which I was riding was less than half full. I did not realize I was seated in a “quiet car." It was beautiful, clean and roomy and had signs on its ceiling over the aisle at intervals that said the use of cell phones in this car was prohibited. I didn’t notice.

I called my daughter and arranged a pick-up in New Haven.

Directly across the aisle from me was a young woman, a flight attendant, as it turned out, for Southwest. She called over to me softly saying that she had heard me talking to my daughter about picking me up and had a suggestion about a connection that would get me to Hartford. I thanked her and said the arrangement had been made and it would be best if I stuck with New Haven.

I thought to myself, “Wow, what a terrific person." She surely was.

When a man and a woman got on in New York City, I thought nothing of it. They looked to be in their 60s and the woman wore a long, expensive-looking fur coat. They sat in front of my flight attendant friend, one seat ahead of me, on the opposite side. The woman sat in the aisle seat, reading a book. I made another call on my cell phone and must have been talking louder than I intended.

When a conductor came up to collect tickets, the woman turned and in a loud and angry voice, lit into me. I haven’t been chastised like that since high school. I tried to apologize. She didn’t want to hear it and she obviously wanted the conductor to hear her. He was a nice guy and said mildly to the raging passenger, “He didn’t know . . ." She ignored him and finished her rant and then went back to her book.

I had to sit there and take it, guilty in the first degree. No loud talking. No cell phones.

We reached New Haven. My flight attendant friend hauled down her bags from the overhead rack. Having seen me walking with a cane, she turned to me and gently asked, “do you have a bag up here I can get for you?"

I said, “No, thank you" and added, “You are a very nice person."

About the Author

Owen Canfield started writing a Sunday column, profiling local people and slices of life, for The Register Citizen on Sept. 14, 2008, as some post-retirement writing he was doing for the Hartford Courant wound down. It was a homecoming of sorts. He had started his career at the Torrington Register 50 years ago, before leaving for a job at the Courant in 1965.